


Then He Kissed Me

by Ellajane2255



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: (LET ME FULFILL MY FANTASIES OKAY), Angst with a fluffy ending, Cuban!Lockwood, F/M, Historical AU - 1950s, It’s as historically accurate as I could get, Lockwood is a biker, Racial Discrimination, Waitress!Lucy, he wears a leather jacket, racial abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17183273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellajane2255/pseuds/Ellajane2255
Summary: Westerburg, Ohio. Literally, the middle of nowhere. And Lucy Carlyle hates it. The only place in the US where less happens than George's dating life. But it's a cold, rainy day in October when Lucy's life is thrown up in the air - with the sudden arrival of George's childhood friend; Anthony Lockwood.(DISCLAIMER - I don't own Lockwood & Co.)(CROSS POSTED FROM FF.NET)//ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE//





	1. Chapter 1

"What'll it be, Sir?"

Lucy paused, her pencil ready. The young man in the letterman jacket glanced once more at the menu, and then up at his blushing girlfriend opposite. "Uh, just a chocolate milkshake, please. Thanks"

She smiled, and jotted it down. "Alright. Two straws?". They nodded in consent, and Lucy clicked across the tiled floor to the kitchen.

"George! One chocolate milkshake! Make it snappy", Lucy yelled, pushing open the door. There was a loud crash, a grunt, and a messy blond head appeared over the counter. "Gimme some warning next time, Luce..."

George Cubbins, her best friend since... Well, grade school. They veered between extremes. One day, they'd be threatening to kill each other, and the next they'd be at the arcade playing pinball and buying each other soda like nothing had ever happened.

He was insufferable, but she'd never have him any other way.

The waitress smiled to herself, tucking her notebook into her apron pocket. She pushed through the door, behind the bar. It was barely four pm, and already the light outside was fading. It was overcast, raindrops starting to patter down the windows at the front of the diner.

Barnes' Diner was a small, red - and - white cafe on the outskirts of Westerburg, Ohio; a town, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Set a little distance back from the main road, the parking lot outside is empty except for a red dodge Chevy truck - George's - and a dark Mercury, presumably belonging to Letterman jacket boy.

Checking that no one was watching her - the couple is too occupied gossiping about the mysterious new gang in town - Lucy took her physics textbook out from under the counter, and opened it to the bookmarked page. She took a glass from the shelf behind her, and started to wipe it with a cloth.

"Hey! Luce!", there's a rattle as George pushed the sliding partition up, passing the glass through. Lucy took it, tossing the towel over her shoulder, wiping her damp fingers on her peach - coloured uniform.

She grabbed the glass, put it on the table, and returned to her physics textbook. Using her pencil, she jotted some notes in the margin of the book, and tucked it into the bun at the back of her head.

In physics, the term 'light' sometimes refers to electromagnetic radiation of any wavelength, whether visible or not. In this sense, gamma rays, X-rays, microwaves and radio waves are also light. The study of light, known as optics, is an important research area in modern physics-

The roar of an engine made her look up. A sleek, black motorcycle had just pulled into the lot, rolling to a stop beneath the trees parallel with the road. A moment later, three more more rounded the corner, and pulled up next to the first. Lucy tensed. "George?"

"I heard", somehow, he's suddenly beside her, gazing out the window. They'd dismounted the bikes, removed their helmets, and one is striding confidently across the tarmac towards the door.

George stiffened, and Lucy glanced at the couple. They'd noticed the bikes too, and gone noticeably silent. The figure is halfway to the door, and Lucy wondered absently if she's got enough time to reach for the penknife she has in her satchel in the kitchen for self defence.

But they've probably got guns. Who brings a knife to a gun fight?, she thought bitterly, watching as they came ever closer to the door. "George. What do we do?", she asked the cook calmly. "We...", he cleared his throat, "we do nothing. We give them the cash, and... don't call the cops. You two", he addressed the couple, "don't say a word. Keep quiet"

The boy rose, afraid, and hurried to his companions side, tucking her under his arm. They've reached the bottom of the path to the diner now, and are sidling up it like they own the Earth.

Greasers are bad news. Everyone knows that. With their leathers, swept back hair, political extremism. Even as a young girl, she'd been called inside off the lawn the second the roar of a motorbike tore through the serenity of the neighbourhood.

"Don't forget to breathe, Luce"

The door opened, the little bell jingling. There was a gust of cold, wet air, and the room seems to shrink exponentially.

A man; tall, too tall, slender, black hair swept back from a tanned, freckled face. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, worn combat boots, and a smirk.

"Afternoon all"

His accent is unfamiliar. A drawl. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him, and he basked in it. He covered the distance between the door and the bar in three strides, sliding onto one of the stools, and picking up a menu.

His hair is wet, jacket soaked, his soggy white t-shirt doing... well, nothing to hide the corded muscles underneath and oh god was it always this warm in here?

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

His voice comes out like honey on a knife. It's too easy, too smooth. And of course, he's taken the stool right in front of her, and of course, Lucy's gaping like a catfish.

"I... Lucy"

"Lucy", he tries it on his tongue, and grins, blindingly white, "there a surname to go with that?"

"Yes"

His gaze is on her face, dark eyes unwavering and intense. "Alright then. Suit yourself", like all Greasers, his demeanour is one of studied nonchalance, slouched over the bar, gazing at her with cool interest, before he languorously extended a hand, "my name's Anthony Lockwood. People call me Lockwood"

Lucy stared at the proffered appendage. If he was going to rob the joint, couldn't he just do it and get it over with?

But he doesn't drop it.

His hand is huge, she realises; the fingers are bony, but the palm is massive, rough in places, downright calloused in others. It is too tanned to be local, like the rest of him. There was a single gold band on his right middle finger.

"Are you here to rob us?"

The question had left her mouth before Lucy had time to even think it. George appeared from the kitchen, choked, and hastily retreated. The man at the bar raised a single, elegantly arched eyebrow, dropped his hand to fold them on the counter.

"Nah. I'm not a criminal. Just here for a drink"

"Then order one", Lucy muttered quietly, and his smile was back.

Just what was so damn funny she didn't know...

He glanced down at the menu, and then back at her, quirking his head to the side. "Strawberry milkshake, please"

Lucy tossed the tea towel onto the shelf at the back, and walked back into the kitchen, but George is already there.

He snatched her arm, and yanked her into the furthest corner from the front. "Luce, listen to me", the boy grabbed her shoulders, and shook her a little, "Don't wind these guys up. They're not nice. He could still have a gun"

She grabbed his wrists and eases them away. "George, calm down. He's not scary. The guy's barely older than you. He couldn't hurt me if he tried".

The cook opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sigh. "But yes, I'll be careful". "Good. Now, go", he thrust a glass into her hand and shoved her towards the door.

She stumbled against the door, and it fell open, and Lucy only just managed to catch herself before she thudded to the floor.

The waitress straightened, and looked at the man sat behind the bar. He'd picked up her physics textbook and was studying it intently. She placed the cup down with a deliberately - over - loud 'clink'. The man lowered the book, and smiled.

"Your equations are correct", the Greaser tapped the margin of the page, indicating the sums she had scribbled down, "but here, the symbol for wavelength isn't w, it's...", he paused and glanced around for something to write with.

"Oh", she reached back and plucked the pencil out of her bun, and placed it down. The man grinned, and drew a little symbol beside her equation. "Lambda represents the wavelength, so when you're writing it out in this form, you should put the symbol for an extra mark"

He holds the pencil out to her, but all she can do is stare. This man... in all his black - leathered glory... his smirk... his swept - back hair... was teaching her physics. There's even a little pin badge on his lapel - a white hand clasping a black one, the words 'WE ARE ONE' beneath it - glinting in the weak neon light.

He quirked an eyebrow, and wiggled the pencil at her.

Lucy snatched it off him, shoving it back into her bun.

"Cute dress, by the way. Pink is a good colour on you", he remarked softly, eyes sliding over her uniform, pulling his drink closer with one hand. Lucy rolled her eyes.

The uniform was... decidedly not her style.

She was used to guys hitting on her - they seemed to think it'd get them a free drink or something. This guy was clearly just the same. Except for the fact he hadn't tried to stick his hand up her skirt or something yet.

"You haven't seen me in any other colours"

He winked, and Lucy suppressed a sigh. "Hm. True", he replied, "I wouldn't mind seeing you in other colours. Or-"

Okay, time out.

George had suddenly appeared behind her, and leant over the bar, inches from the man's face.

To his credit, the Greaser didn't flinch. He just smiled, and shifted slightly to face him better.

"Keep that up and you'll be out of here on that skinny ass of yours in a minute", the cook growled.

He grinned again, and raised his hands. "No harm done"

George glared at him again, and then his eyes widened.

"Wait a minu- Lockwood?"

The Greaser frowned. "How do you- Oh my god! George!"

Suddenly, the two stand, and embrace over the counter. Lucy stepped back, eyebrows knitted in concern. What the hell was going on?

"My god, it's been- what, ten years? Eleven?", George pulled back briefly, grinning. The tanned man clapped him on the back and laughed. He stood to go around the bar, and George visibly palled.

"Sweet Mother Mary, you're huge!"

The Greaser threw back his head and laughed. "They always said I'd get my father's height", then he looked down at George and added dryly, "seems you got your mothers"

The cook punched his arm affectionately, and Lucy was still staring.

"Wait, what- you two know each other?"

By this point, George had pushed open the bar top and was embracing the man again. "Yep", they pulled apart again, and he grins, "practically grew up together. We lived next door to each other. Homestead, Florida, just outside Miami"

"We made quite the pair", the other man replied with a laugh, "the son of tenth generation white Americans with Republican parents, and a Cuban kid who didn't speak English"

Lucy was still, quite honestly, gobsmacked. The chances of these two knowing each other and then meeting again in a place as remote as Westerburg were... astronomical at best. She refused on principal to call anything impossible, but this was damn near close.

She snatched for something, anything, to say. "You're Cuban?", she asked the man, and he nodded. "What did you say your name was again?". "Anthony Lockwood. People call me Lockwood". She frowned. "That doesn't sound very Cuban". He smiled, but unlike the others, it didn't meet his eyes. "No, I don't suppose it does"

At that moment, the doorbell tingled again, and three other people pushed into the bar.

One was female, the other two were male; the girl was Lucy's age, probably a bit older, with short cropped blonde hair, a sharp face, and bored blue eyes.

The first man was big - as tall as the man at the bar, but wider still. He had nondescript brown curls and eyes.

The third was quite interesting. A young man, maybe twenty, with red hair and a fair smattering of freckles over an almost delicate face.

"Lockwood, hurry it up. We're ready when you are", the ginger one ordered. He had a clipped tone, probably Boston. They stepped out again, lingering under the porch.

"Alright, gimme a minute", he replied flippantly, eyes still on Lucy, "she your girlfriend then, George?"

The cook spluttered. "Hell no! Dating Luce? That'd be like dating my sister", he laughed.

"Ah", the Greaser - Lockwood, she reminded herself - smiled, "well, I should go. Kipps gets pretty antsy about getting his hair wet"

"Wait, you can't just- wander off!", George exclaimed angrily, snatching Lockwood's sleeve, "I see you for the first time in ten years and now you want to wander off?!"

The tall man grasped his wrist and tugged him off gently. "Cool down, I'll be in school on Monday. I've got foster parents here, too. They're great-"

"Lockwood! Hurry up!"

"Yeah, alright!", he hollered back, and started towards the door, then he paused, "guess I'll see you on Monday, George"

Then he stopped, and grinned.

"And you, Luce. See you in class"

With that, he pushed open the door, and disappeared out into the rain.

Lucy stared after him, fiddling with the hem of her apron.

George cleared his throat.

She jumped, and turned. "What?!"

"When you're quite done making eyes at my childhood friend, we've got customers"

Lucy huffed, but obeyed.

She wasn't making eyes! She'd never had a boyfriend before in her life, and she didn't intend to start. Especially not with a Greaser. Particularly not one that was George's boyhood best friend.

But it was hard to find a reason to explain why her heart beat just a little faster whenever she heard a motorbike that weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

It's actually Sunday evening that Lucy sees him again. She's walking home from the Diner, through the suburb of Willow Bank, in the half - dark, satchel over one shoulder, umbrella up, when the sound of something metal being dropped, and a man cursing, makes her look up.

It's him, obviously, because who else would it be? He's in one of the driveways next to her, under the cover of the raised garage door, flat on his back underneath his motorbike, illuminated by the warm glow of the inside light.

Briefly, she contemplates calling out for him, but then thinks better of it. Don't tempt fate.

There's a radio behind him, crackling out a popular rock song that she's heard a few times before. He's not wearing his jacket - it's October, not that warm out - and his arms are streaked with grease and oil. His once - white shirt is dirty, and his jeans are dusty.

He's musclier than she realised. Considerably so. His arms are tanned, roped with muscles in an understated way that speaks of practicality not decoration. His chest and stomach are the same; toned, but not too much.

"Hello again"

He's sat up now, leant against the bike with a smirk.

"Hi"

"Fancy seeing you again so soon. You live round here?"

Ha. In her dreams maybe.

Lucy shook her head. "No. Other side of town", she glanced around her briefly, taking in the white picket fences, Colonial style houses, and pruned rose bushes. "Where abouts?", Lockwood stands, placing the spanner on a table covered in spare parts and junk.

She was afraid he was going to ask that. Better get it all out now... "Carter Row"

There's no flash of pity in his eyes, no barely - concealed shock or horror. Just curiosity.

"Is it nice?"

The girl shrugged. "I guess"

He wiped his hands off on his jeans and grinned at her. "Would you like to come in for a snack? Auntie J's just made muffins and they are to die for"

Lucy shook her head, starting to shiver a little in the rain. Although, homemade muffins do sound pretty good right now. Her mom never made anything - she was too tired after work. "Can't, sorry. Mom's expecting me home by seven"

"Oh, well let me give you a ride. I need to test her out anyway", Lockwood picked up his jacket from the floor and slung it over one shoulder. Lucy took a hasty step back, nearly falling off the pavement and into the road, not that it made much difference, considering he hasn't moved towards her.

"Oh, no! It's... uh... I'm... fine walking", she managed, already determining the quickest route away from his dark gaze and into the relative seclusion of her attic bedroom four miles away. "Okay, then. Let me walk you home". "I'm fine, really"

He sighed then, and adjusted the radio antenna, making it crackle loudly. "I know this is a small town, but it's dark, and I'd feel better if you'd let me walk you, at least halfway. Come on, don't trust strange men in the dark and all that"

Lucy raises an eyebrow in a poor imitation of him. "How do I know you're not a strange man?", she retorts. He laughs. "Very true. Well then, if I can't walk you, take a snack. Come on. Consider it payback for that milkshake I didn't pay for"

"It's alright, seriously", Lucy replied, her upbringing telling her that nothing came without a price. She'd take his food, but what would he expect in return?

He paused by the garage door, his face shaded by the glaring light behind him. He hesitates, jaw clenching and unclenching, and for a moment it seems as though he will pursue the issue. Then - "okay. Guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Lucy breathes an inward sigh of relief. "Yeah. Um, see you"

She takes off walking quickly, keeping her pace down the road, desperate to be away from this perfect little snapshot of suburbia.

Lucy wills herself not to look back, to keep her eyes on the pavement in front of her and not to fall flat on her face.

She rounds the corner onto the main road, and paused briefly in the glow of a street lamp. She allowed herself just one quick peek - he won't know, after all. And what he doesn't know can't hurt him - and finds him watching her intently from the end of the driveway.

Despite herself, Lucy blushes, and turns away immediately, pretending she hadn't just seen him leant against the gate, arms folded, hair hanging over his forehead, dark eyes following her down the street.

-:-:-:-

"Beaufort?"

"Yes, sir"

"Berkowitz?"

"Yes, sir"

"Carlyle?"

Lucy jerked up from her geography notes and looked at Mr Moreland, her homeroom teacher. He's in his mid forties, short, bird - like, with feathery brown hair and bottle glasses. He's perched on the edge of his desk, like a true academic. "Uh, yes, Sir", she replied, looking back down at her hastily scribbled work. The edges are soaked, and she brushes them out, trying not to tear the soggy paper.

It had drizzled last night, so there were puddles everywhere. It just so happened that, when the usual suspects - preps and jocks, because duh - hounded her up the steps to the hall and tripped her, she and her satchel fell in a pool of cold, murky rainwater.

Her history, maths, and geography notes are salvageable. Her sketchbook is damp at the edges, but okay. English and Spanish are fine - safely tucked into durable Manila folders. Her secondhand science textbooks, the most expensive things in her bag however, are ruined, and her mother isn't exactly going to shell out on new ones. It'll be an extra four shifts to get one. Looks like shes going to have to cancel on her and George's movie night on Saturday.

There's a knock at the door, and she's the only one to notice over the loud chatter of her classmates. The door squeaks open, and a few more people turn to pay attention.

"Hey, is this, uh... Mr Moreland's class?"

Lucy looks, properly looks, and oh, you have got to be kidding me.

"Yes. And you are?", the dusty professor replied shortly. "Anthony Lockwood". Mr Moreland gestures to a the only empty desk, beside Lucy. The Greaser looks at the desk, and then at Lucy, and smiles.

The whole class has fallen silent, everyone's eyes on this tall, dark stranger who's in their homeroom. Every girl in the room is fixed on him, whispering to their friends behind their hands, batting their eyelashes. The boys size him up, taking in his height, his bulk. Lucy looks away and scowls at her soggy geography texts. "Hey, kid"

She looks up, and he's staring down at her. "This seat taken?", he asked, gesturing to the seat beside her, one hand grasping the strap of his rucksack. Lucy shrugs, and looks back down.

"No"

He grins, tosses the bag under the little wooden table, and drops into the chair. It screeches, and Lucy flinches.

Mr Moreland clears his throat and carries on with role call. Lockwood pushes his chair back, resting his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankle. "What have you got first?", he leant over and whispered.

"Maths. Why?". He shrugged. "Me too. Just curious"

His eyes slide down, and for a moment Lucy thinks he's leering at her, but then he frowns and picks up her damp satchel. "What happened here?"

The girl grabbed the bag back. "It got wet". "Clearly", he remarked dryly, "dare I ask how?". "It rained. I fell in a puddle". He grins again, annoyingly intense this early in the morning.

"Is your stuff okay?". "Mostly. My, uh, science books are wrecked, but...", she picks up the soggy remains of what was once her chemistry book and placed it back down with a wet thud.

He cocks his head to the side, and Lucy wonders rather suddenly why she's telling him this. It's not like he actually cares or anything.

She clears her throat and looks away. "The maths classrooms are on the other side of school. You should go if you want to get there on time"

"What about you?"

"I'll... come in a bit. I've got to... sort out this situation"

He frowns, dark brows knitting. "Lucy", he says evenly, "did you... just trip? Or were you... you know... pushed?"

Lucy stiffens. Is he insinuating that she can't handle herself?

"No"

He raises an eyebrow. "Lucy, you don't exactly strike me as the sort to be, you know, clumsy. Is someone bullying you?"

"Why is that any of your business?"

Lockwood raised his arms in surrender. "Okay, cool down, kid. I just wanted to know"

"Well, you don't need to", Lucy got to her feet and shoved her things into her barely - dried bag, before storming out of the class room, leaving the man staring after her.

It was Tuesday morning, just before the first bell, rummaging through her locker, that she came across three brand new science textbooks, with a note tucked into the front of the Physics one.

Don't forget to copy your notes ;)


	3. Chapter 3

He stuck out like a sore thumb at lunch break; his worn black leather jacket, surrounded by the pastel toned cardigans and vibrant hues of letterman jackets.

Lucy watched him as discreetly as possible from across the cafeteria, fiddling absently with the edge of her third or fourth hand copy of The Painted Veil.

George dropped into his usual seat opposite, plunking his tray down and chucking his rucksack on the floor by his feet. "Enjoying the view?"

"Before you turned up and spoiled it, yes"

He snorted and took a sip of his water. "Have you done the Biology stuff Brinkley set us?". Lucy nodded, picking up her sandwich. "What, the stuff on the reproductive system? Yeah"

"Can I copy it?". "Sure". Lucy took a bite of her lunch, and placed it down, rummaging in her satchel and pulling out her Biology workbook and flicking it open on the relevant page.

The noise level in the room spiked suddenly - not that it had been by any means quiet before - as one of the jocks leapt up on a table and shouted, "hey everybody! What're the Westerburg Rottweilers gonna do to the Razorbacks at Sunday's game?!"

A cheer went up around the cafeteria, people throwing baseball caps into the air and whooping. "Kick their asses!"

The jock, a man with a shock of ginger hair who Lucy vaguely recognised as Jamie Fitzroy, grinned. "That's right! And now with a new linebacker", he announced, crouched down and grasped Lockwood's shoulder, pulling him to his feet, "mister Anthony Lockwood, straight from Havana, Cuba, the cup is all but ours!"

Another wave of cheers rippled across the room, and Jamie clapped Lockwood hard on the back. The Greaser grinned, and waved at everyone, winking charmingly at the cheer squad sat at the table. They flushed red, and giggled coyly. The blond one simpered and winked, kissing her fingers and blowing it at him.

A funny, heavy feeling thumped onto Lucy's chest and she didn't much care to identify it.

After a moment, the hall began to quieten as students went back to their food and work. George pulled a pen out of his bag and began to hurriedly jot down Lucy's homework into his book, whilst she returned to her sandwich and the tattered novel in her right hand.

"Mind if I join you?"

An accented voice broke the companionable silence. Lucy turned, to find Lockwood stood behind her, hands in his jeans pockets, gazing down at her. "You've got a seat", she stated, but didn't move to push him away.

He shrugged in that infuriatingly casual air of his. "Yeah. But I wanted to say 'hi'". "Well, you've said it. Bye"

The man grinned, and turned his attention to George, who had paused his incessant scribbling and was watching their interactions with barely concealed amusement. "How are you, George?"

"Eh, can't complain", the blond kicked out the chair beside Lucy, and gestured at it vaguely, "just heard you're the new star linebacker. How'd you manage that? You haven't been here three days"

The Greaser dropped into the seat, his tall, athletic frame comically oversized. His long, slim legs seemed to stretch for miles under the table, ending in a pair of slightly muddied combat boots with bright red laces. He dropped his bag with a quiet thump.

"They just came up to me in the parking lot and said 'hey, you look fit. Wanna be on the football team?' And I said 'sure, why not?'", Lockwood ran a bony hand through his dark curls, "it'll look good on a college application, I guess"

Lucy frowned. He wanted to go to college?

All the Greasers she'd ever met had been chain smoking lie - abouts, only concerned with where their next cigarette was coming from. To meet one with, Hell- basic manners, let alone ambitions, was for Lucy, somewhat of a shock.

"College? You want to go to college?"

Lockwood nodded.

"Like, to study?"

He smirked. "That is traditionally what one does at college, yes"

"What were you going to major in?"

The man shrugged, leaning back in the chair, pulling one leg up to cross at the knee. "I was hoping to study Physics, and get a job at NASA, but hey, not like that'll ever happen"

"Why not? It's a free country", Lucy replied, taking a small bite of her sandwich. He threw his head aback and laughed. "Yeah, if you're a straight, white, Republican male"

George snorted. "You always were political..."

"Well, excuse me for having an opinion"

The two teased each other for a few minutes, giving Lucy the perfect opportunity to study Lockwood profile without him seeing her.

He had a slender jaw, with a straight nose, and almost feminine lips. His cheekbones were high, but not overly prominent. His complexion was strikingly perfect - tan, splattered with freckles, but clear - his eyes a greeny hazel colour.

He wasn't terrible looking. In fact, he wasn't half - bad. In some ways, he was handsome; in a warm, sun - kissed kind of way, unlike the cold, stark attractive in the magazines and films.

He was actually a very good - looking young man.

The realisation made Lucy turn red.

She did not find him attractive. Lockwood was simply... aesthetically pleasing. Yes. That was it.

Her inner artist longed to trace out the defined line of his chin, the shell of his ear, the graceful curve of his cheekbones down to his neck, and then lower, mapping his collarbone and shoulders, probably mottled with freckles and beauty marks like his arms. Perhaps even scars, little ones or big ones. Then down to his abdomen, tracing out the subtle curves of his waist and the harder lines of muscle, then down his hips to...

To...

To...

Damn. What was she saying again?

The bell rang loudly, and Lucy swallowed, her tongue suddenly very dry in her mouth. Lockwood beside her glanced at his watch, and stood, grabbing his bag. "I better go. I've got... English lit next"

George stood. "I've got Spanish. Lucy, you've got English Lit, too, haven't you?", he asked, watching her carefully over his wireframe glasses.

"Uh... yes", Lucy finished her sandwich, and tucked her metal lunchbox into her satchel.

"Cool. Do you want to walk with me?"

She looked up from her bag and stared at him. Lockwood was gazing at her intently, hands in his pockets but standing tall.

"Okay"

He grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

If she told herself that the only reason she was walking to class with him was that so her drawings of him later - for her project on 'life as we see it' - would be more accurate, she felt a little better.

Lucy shouldered her satchel and began the short walk from the cafeteria to the English classrooms. As per usual, she was shoved and jostled by the other students trooping towards the exits, dodging nimbly around gossiping prep - types and quiet nerds and jeering jocks.

Lockwood's tall frame meant other people dodged out of his way pretty sharpish, and Lucy didn't blame them.

In his black leather jacket, his dark eyes, his strong frame, he looked like he could quite easily toss anyone in this crowd over his shoulder with little to no thought.

Not that Lucy cared, or anything.

Because she totally didn't.

Lucy cleared her throat and pushed between a pair of tittering teenage girls, who blushed adoringly as Lockwood shimmied past them politely, smiling.

He caught up to her in a few seconds, long legs keeping pace with her fast strides. "What book are you studying?", he asked, looking down at her.

"We're halfway through Pride and Prejudice", she replied shortly. Lockwood nodded slowly. "Great. I've already read it, actually. We did it at my old school, in Nevada"

"Nevada? I thought you were from Florida?"

He shrugged. "I've been all over"

She opened her mouth to ask something else, then shut it as the telltale click of several pairs of heels pierced the veil of quiet chatter that echoed around the hall.

"And you must be the new boy?"

Slowly, the pit of her stomach filling with dread, wishing wordlessly that the ground would just open up and swallow her whole-

"The linebacker?"

Penelope Fittes, in all her finely primped glory, looked Lockwood up and down with a smirk, her cherry lipgloss barely crinkling.

Behind her, her little clique had assembled. Holly Munro, radiant in yellow, smiled prettily, her dark skin glowing in a way Lucy's would never. Talya Rotwell's red suit made her green eyes look even more vicious up close.

The Greaser nodded slowly. "Anthony Lockwood. Everyone calls me Lockwood"

Lucy was suddenly very much aware that everyone else in the hallway had stopped and was watching the small group intently.

The girl pursed her lips, blinking coyly, before extending a slender hand. "Penelope Fittes"

Lockwood shook it, eyes discreetly taking in her silver blazer and pencil skirt, her white kitten heels, the perfect straightness of her mahogany hair.

He released her hand, her perfectly manicured nails lingering on his bronze skin for a moment. Then, Penelope's shrewd copper - coloured eyes slid to Lucy.

"Ah. I see you've been assigned a guide", her voice was like silk, slipping through the warm, crowded corridor and coiling into a tight knot around Lucy's insides.

Lockwood grinned. "Oh, no. Lucy's a friend of a friend. I... assume you two know each other?"

Penelope smiled sickly - sweet. "Oh, yes. I know Lucy"

If by 'knowing someone', she meant 'throwing a cup of fruit punch over their white cardigan because they accidentally sat in your seat at Lunch in eight grade', then yes, Lucy supposed Penelope did know her.

A loud, shrill bell sounded, and the doors on either side of the corridor opened, the crowds slowly beginning to thin out.

"I'm sure I'll see you again, Anthony", Penelope took one confident stride forwards and placed her hand, spread open, on his chest, smiled prettily, and swept past.

But not before she hissed something in Lucy's ear.

"Don't forget where you come from, garbage girl"

Then, with a tinkling laugh and waft of flowery perfume, she and her little ensemble swept off down the hallway, heels clicking as they strutted off.

"Huh. She seems... uh...", Lockwood stared after Penelope's retreating figure for a moment, before blinking, and looking down at Lucy, who was glaring after her.

"Like a mythic bitch? Yeah. You're right. She is"

He chuckled, and then turned, his eyes falling on a rather impatient gentleman tapping his watch in one of the doorways, and whispered to Lucy that they should probably move.

-:-:-

"So... how's Lockwood?"

Lucy paused, her fork of pasta that she wasn't supposed to be eating yet a few inches from her mouth. All of her sisters eyes were on her, Olivia's brown eyes smiling through her overgrown fringe.

"I don't... who?"

Her sisters smirk grew. "Lockwood. You know. New guy. Tall, tanned, handsome devil, really. Looks a lot like the guy in your sketches, actually. The one who walked you-"

Lucy's fork clattered to her plate. "You didn't", she hissed desperately.

"I did", she whispered, and then jerked back abruptly in her seat as Mom walked in. A stern, five foot six widow in a floral dress entered the room and the four remaining sisters dropped back into their hard wooden seats obediently.

"Girls", she greeted coolly.

"Mom", they replied in unison.

She held out her arms as a cue for the girls to take her hands. They joined hands with each other, and Mom cleared her throat.

"Dear lord, we send our thanks for this food that we are about to receive. We pray that you will forgive us our trespasses and see it in your merciful heart to bless us..."

Her mother's droning voice barely reached Lucy's ears.

Without her wanting it to, her mind slid back to the events of today.

More precisely, it slid back to when, after school, she'd been sat in her usual seat at the top of the bleachers, finishing her sketches from art class in the overcast afternoon light.

Lucy loved it up here; she could see the town a mile or so away, and then the woods, ringed about them, then further away, the rolling green hills.

Far below on the football field, the team was warming up, tossing footballs back and forth and jogging laps.

She was just adding the finishing touches to a piece creatively titled 'two oranges and a pear' - class homework - when a loud cheer echoed up from the field below.

"Hey, man! You actually came!"

"Of course. Unless you didn't really want me-"

"No way, man! Come on!"

Lucy looked up and paused, her pencil hovering above the notebook.

Lockwood's tall figure had appeared on the pitch, gym bag slung casually over one shoulder. He was wearing a plain white t shirt and black shorts.

"Alright. Where do you want me?"

Jamie Fitzroy jogged up to him, clapping him on the back. "So, actually, we were thinking we'd start with some tackling drills..."

Lucy drags her eyes away and back down to her page. Stop gawking, a voice inside her scolded, he's a Greaser and is definitely bad news.

Yeah. Okay. But he was definitely the most... aesthetically pleasing guy Lucy had ever seen. She had to be honest.

"Lockwood! You go here!"

She watched in self - disgusted awe as he took down several of the burliest football players, grunting a little in effort as he forced them onto the ground.

His sounds of effort made her knees weak, and Lucy didn't much care to consider why.

She alternated between pretending to sketch, and not - all - too - subtly watching Lockwood roughly tussling on the floor with the others.

Time flew by, as when Lucy happened to glance at her watch it had already gone quarter past five. Muttering a short curse, she clambered quickly to her feet, shoving her notebook into her satchel, swinging it up over her shoulder.

With practiced ease, she made it about halfway down the bleachers, jumping from seat to seat, when a loud shout made her look up.

"Heads!"

"Wha-"

Thump!

Suddenly, Lucy was on her back between a row of benches, her satchel a few feet away, a muddy football impacting where she had been stood a second before, something warm and heavy on top of her, cushioning her fall, and between her legs-

Lockwood, actually.

He was on top of her, face about an inch from hers, and he was shockingly warm.

Somehow, in the second between her being fully stood and being on the floor, splayed between the seats, he had managed to nestle his hips between her thighs, and get his arms behind her head.

And he smelt... really good.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was husky, and very close to her ear. Somehow, it was suddenly rather hard to breathe.

"Yes, I- Fine. I'm fine"

A loud cheer went up on the football field, and Lucy awkwardly peered over Lockwood's shoulder, catching sight of the boys gesturing obscenely and leering.

She pushed his shoulders, hinting that he should probably get up now. Carefully, he extricated himself from between her legs, and offered her a hand up.

Lucy stared at it.

Then, slowly, she took it.

The palm of his hand alone was huge; with his fingers, it engulfed hers entirely in a calloused warmth, as he pulled her gently to her feet, steadying her.

Pointedly, Lucy brushed herself off, clearing her throat.

"You sure you're alright, Luce?", Lockwood asked, looking her up and down, but not before he flipped off his teammates, "you've gone awfully red"

"Perfectly fine", she replied primly, tugging her cardie close, "I have to go now. Goodbye"

"Oh, hey!"

Reluctantly, Lucy turned.

"Your bag"

A couple of seats up, Lockwood was holding out her satchel for her to take. "Do you want me to walk you?"

Lucy jumped up and snatched it. "No. You're busy. I'm fine by myself"

"Alright. See you later?"

"Yeah. Maybe"

Lucy turned back to the football field, only to see that everyone had gone back to their individual training. Lockwood picked up the football and jogged to her side, passing it from hand to hand. "They're not gonna miss me for a while, and my offer still stands"

The girl weighed her options - what harm could it do? It wasn't like Lockwood was the sort to push her into a darkened alleyway and grope her, or steal her purse.

"Okay", Lucy replied after a moment. He grinned. "Great. Gimme one sec to grab my bag, and then I'll be with you"

They made their way to the bottom of the bleachers, Lockwood leaving her side briefly to go and retrieve his gym kit.

Watching him from a distance, she cocked her head to the side a little as one of the other footballers - Robert? Ram? - strutted up to him. They spoke, and Lockwood frowned, his eyes darting briefly in Lucy's direction.

The other footballer said something and laughed, punching Lockwood's arm. He smiled in response, saying something short, before turning and walking back to where Lucy was waiting.

"Everything okay?", she asked.

"Yeah, it's... its fine", he replied noncommittally.

Lucy frowned. "You don't sound sure"

"Nothing I can't deal with"

"Oh... alright", she pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and allowed him to lead her along the edge of the football pitch.

They reached the car park, Lockwood removing his helmet from his bag, then tightening the strap of his duffel bag so it sat close against his torso.

Lucy paused by the school sign, watching with barely - concealed interest as his tall, slim figure sauntered up to the motorcycle parked beneath a low hanging tree.

"Want a ride?"

Up close, the machine was... black. It was shiny, metallic, black, with an exposed engine. He straddled it, long legs reaching the tarmac easily.

"I, um... can... can two people fit?"

He laughed. "Yeah. Come here", he held out a hand, curling his bony fingers to ask her over.

After a seconds hesitation, Lucy moved over to the bike, looking it over with curious eyes.

"It's a BMW R25", he replied to a question she hadn't yet asked, "top speed of about 140 kilometres an hour. But, uh, I've been able to get it to do just a bit more"

"Where do I...?", Lucy trailed off, gesturing my awkwardly at the bike. Lockwood sat back, long legs still resting easily on the pedals. He patted the space between his thighs.

"Between your... legs?"

"Yep"

Very apprehensively, Lucy stepped forwards. And then again.

"I don't bite", Lockwood said with a quiet smile.

She stopped when she got to the bike, awkwardly perching on the seat in front of him, knees pressed self - consciously together.

Lockwood patted her left knee. "Put this over the other side. And then...", he paused as she shifted herself, "lean back into me"

He reached around her, resting his hands on the handle bars. She did so, acutely aware of several things; the strength of his arms, his warmth against her back, the scent of his cologne, his solidness... all over.

It was with a strange sense of reluctance that she ducked beneath his arm, mumbled a quick 'I've got to go', and raced off across the parking lot.

"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen"


	5. Chapter 5

"Anthony, can we have a word with you, please?"

Lockwood paused halfway up the stairs of his foster parents house, his weathered right combat boot hovering above a cream carpeted step.

"Sure, Auntie J. Is everything alright?"

The small, soft woman gazed up at him, smiling faintly, her greying curls framing her kind face. "Perfectly, perfectly. Your Uncle and I just... wanted to talk to you, is all"

"Uh, sure, yeah. Let me just dump my stuff and I'll be right back"

The boy hurried up the stairs, deftly dodging the neurotic tabby, Bourbon, stretched luxuriously across the hallway, absorbed in his own world.

Pushing open the door to his room, Lockwood made a mental note to unpack his gym kit as soon as he has a chance, and then to water the plants on his windowsill, and unpack that last box in the corner, and make the bed-

"Hey, kid"

Lockwood looks up, to his Uncle leaning casually against the doorframe. "Hey, Uncle S"

His uncle - a tall, broad sort of man with grey hair and a wicked sense of humour - smiled at him. "How was school?"

He shrugged. "So - so. We had a history exam". "How'd it go?". "I didn't flunk it, if that's what you're asking". The man grins. "Auntie J said they wanted you on the Football team?". "Yep. Linebacker"

"That's my boy. I knew you'd fit right in. And, uh...", his Uncle gave a slow, atrocious wink, "any cute girls?"

Lockwood snorted. "Nope. Well. Maybe"

"Oh? Do tell, won't you?", he was grinning now, wickedly.

"No, 'cause you'll laugh at me. I know your game, Uncle S"

His Uncle's eyes glinted. "As if I'd ever! You know I only ever... encourage your pursuits". The Greaser snorted again. "And they said you were a good role model..."

"I'm just... involved. Supportive", slowly, he eased himself off the doorframe, muttering something about 'dang knee playing up again, must be a storm coming' and moved to the windowsill. "So... she cute or what?"

"She could kick my ass"

His Uncle 'hmm'ed appreciatively. "Damn. I like her already". Lockwood flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the posters of singers and astronomy charts tacked to the ceiling, grinning.

"But she's cute, too. She's tiny, and she blushes all the time, and she draws, and she's a waitress so she has this adorable little dress-"

"So ask her to Homecoming or something"

Lockwood bolted up. "No way! Why would she ever... she'd never go out with me! I offered her a ride home and she bolted! She'd never date me"

The man kinked an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because, like, she's way too good for me"

His Uncle's mouth curled up into a smile. "Go on, kid, I've seen you in action. You got my charm. You're never usually this... pessimistic"

Lockwood sighed, letting his head flop back against the pillow. "I... I'm fine"

"Are you? Because the last time you were this vague about anything was the time your Auntie J walked in on you and that Veronica girl-"

"Oh, my god!", Lockwood slapped his hands over his face and rolled onto his side, "You promised you wouldn't bring that up!"

"What? Oh, like your aunt even cared! You're a young man-"

"We we're making out!"

He grinned slyly. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Come on, kid, your Aunt's waiting for us", with that, he levered himself up, and slunk out of the room.

The boy on the bed blew out a long breath, counted to thirty, then pushed himself up, and trudged downstairs, aggressively repressing memories from the sunny state of North Carolina.

"Anthony!"

"Coming, Aunt J!"

He jumped the bottom step, landing silently, before hurrying into the living room.

His Aunt and Uncle were squished together on the sofa, holding hands. The woman chewed her bottom lip anxiously, her husbands eyes fixed on her, glowing with love.

If Lockwood was to be perfectly honest, he wanted a marriage like his foster parents. His Uncle had been a notorious flirt in his younger days, but he wouldn't even dream of looking at another woman - not when 'he could come home to the most beautiful lady in the world'.

"Anthony, please, sit", his Aunt gestured vaguely at the wicker chair opposite, and Lockwood dropped obediently into it.

"What's this about?", the boy grinned cheekily, "if its the 'talk'- if it's what I think it's about, Uncle S beat you to it-"

"Hey! I swore you to secrecy!", the man yelped, looking away embarrassedly.

"No, no! We know you're a sensible boy, and... well", she cleared her throat awkwardly, "that's not what we're here to talk about. You see, I heard on the radio today that there's been some crimes in Lamport - drugs, theft, gangs, that sort of thing - and your Uncle and I, we... were a little concerned"

Lockwood frowned. "I'm not involved, if that's what you were insinuating-"

Her face fell. "Oh, Anthony, sweetheart no! We know you'd never do anything like that, but we just thought because... of your... heritage, the police might suspect you over anyone else. We just wanted you to be extra careful for a little while"

Lockwood nodded slowly. It was a generally accepted fact of life that being Latino - or being any minority, really - didn't exactly put him in good stead with the law. His Aunt and Uncles concern was understandable.

He grinned. "That's fine, I can do that. Thanks for telling me. Erm, I've gotta go, Kipps said we were going to a movie or something, so-"

His Aunt got to her feet, clapping her hands together. "Oh, don't let us keep you away from your friends, sweetheart! Just make sure you're back by eleven, okay?"

"Yes, Auntie J", Lockwood stood to his full height, stooping a little to embrace the woman. "We're so proud of you, you know that, right?", she whispered. They drew apart, and his Uncle gave him an affectionate punch in the shoulder, and a growled 'go get 'em, kid'.

There was a knock at the door, and Lockwood ran a quick hand through his hair. "I'll get it. It'll probably be Kipps, anyway"

Lockwood covered the short distance from the living room to the front door in a few strides. He unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door.

Sure enough, a slight ginger boy stood at the threshold, flanked by his clique. "Anthony. Hurry it up. The movie starts at five"

The Greaser grinned. "Hello to you too, Kipps. Okay, I'll be two minutes, wait there"

He pushed the door half - shut, and dashed back upstairs, jumping over the cat again - who was now pawing morosely at Anthony's door - before entering his room, the cat winding its way between his legs.

He flicked on the radio perched precariously on his window sill, nestled amongst trailing plants and photo frames and mementos.

'... You thrill me, I know you, you, you thrill me, darling, you, you, you, you thrill me, honest you do...'

The crackly strains of a song he'd heard before rung out across the room as Lockwood shed his jacket and began to pull his shirt up over his head.

'...at first I thought it was infatuation, but, woo, it's lasted so long, now I find myself wanting, to marry you and take you home, whoa...'

He needed deodorant, which he had put... where exactly? He glanced around the room, eyes eventually falling on his rucksack. Ahah! There!

'... You, you, you, you send me, I know you send me, I know, you send me, honest you do..."

He picked up the bag and upended it over the bed, snatching up the can. Then, a folded piece of paper fluttered out and landed on top of the pile of notebooks and textbooks. Lockwood frowned.

What on Earth-?

He grabbed it, carefully unfolding it, noting that it was dirty and waterstained.

It was a handwritten note; the handwriting was awful; hurried and scratched, scrawling across the page like a drunk spider had fallen in an ink pot.

'GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY! KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OUR GIRLS'

Lockwood turned the paper over, found nothing, and folded it back up. He put on some deodorant, a clean shirt, turned off the radio, pulled on his jacket, then hurried downstairs, tucking the note safely into his breast pocket.

He didn't need to worry his foster parents about it - it was just some stupid joke that wasn't funny. But he needed to tell... someone.

And he knew just who he could trust.


End file.
